“Thanks. I will.”
He slid off the stool, depositing Pajarito onto it. “I have to run do prep in the truck. When do you head home?”
“Tomorrow morning. It was awfully nice getting to know you a little better this week.” I held out my hand.
He shook it. “Same here, Robbie. You take care today, all right?” He still wasn’t smiling.
“I promise.”
He disappeared into the kitchen. The cat jumped down and followed him. Hector had looked beyond worried. The same way Madame Allegra had. I again felt the chill that had come over me at the fortuneteller’s. I sat up straight, trying to shake it off. I had twenty-four hours until I was on a plane home. What could happen in this beautiful place full of light?
I sent Hector the detective’s number, then burrowed into my phone. Nothing new. Except . . . Oh! A text had come in a minute ago from a number I didn’t recognize or already have in my phone. I opened it to read,
Let’s talk. Meet me Alice Keck west entrance ten thirty.
This must be from Mel Washington’s personal phone about Paul’s autopsy. I tapped out a quick reply.
Thx. See you then.
How had I nearly forgotten Jason had said Mel was willing to give me details about Paul’s death? I chalked it up to an over-full brain. Was it odd she hadn’t identified herself in the text? No. Jason would have told her he had let me know she’d be contacting me unofficially.
It was only nine now. I had plenty of time to eat and make it downtown by ten thirty. I had almost no time left to contribute to Paul’s murder investigation—which, of course, the detective didn’t want me to—but if Mel laid out the facts of Paul’s death for me, I might sleep more easily. Or maybe Gifford and team would have arrested the killer by the time I needed to leave before dawn to catch my flight from LAX to Indy.
Luisa herself delivered my breakfast. She set down a steaming platter with three chiles rellenos arrayed in a triangle surrounded by avocado slices atop a mound of what had to be Mexican fried rice, with specks of red and green peppers, a smattering of black beans intermingled with bits of scrambled eggs, and covered with melted cheese and salsa. I’d eaten avocado every day of my trip and wasn’t a bit tired of its smooth, rich taste and texture. Yep, I was in heaven.
Carmen handed me a small plate holding two glistening sopapillas and set down a hefty bloody Mary next to it.
“Wow.” I was truly stunned. “Gracias, Mamá, Carmen .” I stood and gave them each a hug. “But I didn’t order a drink, Carmen.”
She waved me away. “Sit, eat, drink.” She leaned closer and whispered, “On the house.”
All I could do was smile as Luisa headed back for the kitchen. Carmen tended to other customers. I blissed out on my meal.
Chapter 46
I pulled into a parking space on Santa Barbara Street near the west entrance to the park at a few minutes before ten thirty. Despite the size of my filling breakfast, I’d wisely taken only a couple of sips of the bloody Mary. The last thing I needed was an arrest for DUI the day before I left, or worse, hurting someone because I’d been driving impaired. I’d promised Carmen I would stop in for a drink tonight before I went to bed instead.
I put down the windows and let the sunny air fill the rental. I couldn’t see Mel strolling, perched on a bench, or sitting in a car, so I stayed put behind the wheel. My Spidey sense came back to remind me she hadn’t identified herself, which was odd. I gazed at her text again. Huh. I copied the number and texted it to Jason’s personal phone, hoping he had it on him at work. I added a message:
Is this the number I should expect to be contacted from?
Despite the vagueness, he would know I meant Mel.
His reply dinged seconds later.
No! I’ll run a search. Stay safe. Or better, leave the area.
Staying safe was definitely the plan. I didn’t leave, but I clicked the doors locked. Just in case. Just in case of what, I didn’t want to think about.
The sidewalk here was full of briefcase holders walking briskly. Parents meandered with strollers and toddlers in tow. A few down-on-their luck people huddled under blankets on benches, while others sat mutely on the ground holding hand-lettered cardboard signs asking for a day’s work or food for their six kids.
Not a tall, stylish, obsidian-skinned pathologist among them. But as I watched, I did spot someone familiar. Cody Russom hurried toward the entrance wheeling a bicycle, giving me a sad déjà vu from my meeting with Paul only five days earlier. Cody wheeled the bike into the park, then halted next to a cactus with spiky red flowers and pointed twisting tendrils that reminded me of an octopus.
He shed the bike helmet and started to do a slow 360. I slid down so my head was barely visible above the steering wheel. When he faced away again I straightened. Had he texted me and not Mel? I’d never given him my cell number. Was Cody trying to trap me? Or had he contacted me to hand over a piece of evidence that would incriminate Paul’s killer?
Jason texted me.
Number not Mel’s. It belongs to Walter Russom’s multiline account. Leave, Rob. Drive to police station. Or anywhere, please. And let Gifford know.
I could drive away now. I could head over to Mr. Straight Arrow Gifford and report the text. But I didn’t want to leave until I understood what was going on. Maybe Cody needed help. Maybe his text had been because he’d learned something important. About his father’s culpability in Paul’s death? Or Katherine’s?
On the other hand, he could be on their team. He was family, after all. He could have lied to Alana and me about his anti-Agrosafe
